Chapter 2: Secrets in the Kitchen

As a professional pampered wife, I reflected for a while. I really was too emotional.

I poured myself some coffee and stared out at the backyard, where a squirrel was raiding our bird feeder again. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I needed to chill out and not let my subconscious mess with my marriage.

How could I hit Derek just because of a dream that couldn’t be proven?

Still, part of me wondered if he’d done anything dream-worthy lately. I sipped my coffee, guilt nibbling at the edges of my conscience. I really did owe him one—maybe even a batch of his favorite chocolate chip cookies as an apology.

Though, to be honest, he seemed to enjoy it quite a bit…

He’d been all smiles when he left for work, whistling as he tied his tie. If he was upset, he sure hid it well. Maybe I should have dreams like that more often—just for the make-up cuddles.

I felt a little guilty.

I tapped out a quick text: "Sorry for the slap. Dream-You was a jerk. Real-You gets cookies tonight. XOXO."

I decided that when I went to baking class today, I’d ask the other women for advice.

Baking class was as much about swapping stories as it was about flour and sugar. Most of us wore flour-dusted aprons and traded recipes like secrets. We were a mix of retirees, tired moms, and one college kid who mostly came for the free cookies. I figured the other ladies—who’d seen their share of marital spats and reconciliations—would have tips on how to fix things when you’re the one who messed up.

How do they make up to their husbands after making a mistake?

Maybe there was a secret handshake or a pie recipe I hadn’t learned yet. I mentally prepared my confession as I packed my tote bag with my favorite spatula and that worn-out recipe book I loved.

When I arrived at the classroom and had just tied on my yellow bear apron, I heard a woman next to me quietly crying.

The bakery classroom smelled of cinnamon and rising dough, but a hush had settled over our little group. I adjusted my apron, glancing sideways. At the end of the counter, Lila had her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. Aubrey hovered close, voice soft as a lullaby.

Another woman stood beside her, holding tissues and comforting her in a low voice.

Aubrey always kept a stash of tissues in her tote—she’d been through two divorces and a hurricane, and nothing rattled her anymore. She patted Lila’s back, murmuring words I couldn’t quite make out.

I knew both of them—the one crying was Lila, and the one comforting her was Aubrey.

Lila usually showed up with perfectly styled hair and a contagious laugh, the kind of person who organized every bake sale and remembered everyone’s birthday. Seeing her cry made my heart ache.

I glanced over a couple more times, then went over to ask what had happened.

I hovered a respectful moment, then sidled over, hands tucked in my apron pockets. "Hey, is everything okay?"

Aubrey hesitated, unsure how to begin, but Lila choked up and told me directly.

Lila sniffed, eyes red, but she straightened up, clearly determined not to hide behind half-truths. Aubrey squeezed her shoulder, nodding for her to go ahead.

“My husband cheated on me.”

The mixer’s whirring seemed to fade, and even the cinnamon in the air couldn’t cover the ache in her voice.

The words hung in the air, heavy as overproof dough. I felt my own chest tighten in sympathy. I reached for her hand, not sure what to say, but hoping the gesture would help.

My heart skipped a beat. I vaguely remembered Lila’s husband—he’d always seemed like a reliable, upright guy.

He’d come to our bake sale once, setting up tables with the dads, talking about his new grill. He was the kind who’d mow his neighbor’s lawn without being asked. None of us had seen this coming.

I asked, “I remember you two had such great chemistry. Did someone even better come along?”

I tried to keep my voice gentle, not wanting to pry but wishing I could help her make sense of it. There was a beat of silence as Lila dabbed her eyes with the tissue Aubrey handed her.

Lila sniffled. “It wasn’t another woman—it was a man. I never saw it coming.”

As Lila’s tears fell, I realized—sometimes, the worst dreams aren’t dreams at all. Sometimes, they’re sitting right beside you, asking for another slice of pie.